


Hurry Up Don't Take So Long

by poisonivory



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory
Summary: Jon is Damian's best friend. He's also three years younger than Damian, which means they can't be anythingmorethan friends, no matter what Jon says. Right?Or: Five times Damian didn't kiss Jon, and one time he did.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 53
Kudos: 336





	Hurry Up Don't Take So Long

**Author's Note:**

> I threw the Underage warning in there to be safe, but nothing actually happens between the boys until Jon turns 18. Just Longing (TM).
> 
> Also, the Bendis stuff is obviously completely disregarded here, because...well, you know why. Jon is three years younger than Damian, period.
> 
> Title is from "I Promise to Wait, My Love" by Martha and the Vandellas.

1\. 

Damian was thirteen and Jon was ten and they had just saved the day. Again.

Specifically, they had saved the day in Metropolis, where Toyman had taken advantage of Superman’s absence on a highly publicized mission in space to attempt to conquer the city with a giant robot broadcasting on a mind controlling frequency. He’d been aided in his endeavors by the Mad Hatter, who had escaped from Arkham Asylum _again_ , and Damian would be having a very sternly worded conversation with the trustees about the security situation there, if he could manage to do it behind Father’s back.

Saving the day in Metropolis was different than saving it in Gotham. In Gotham, the residents were usually too busy crying or recovering from the effects of Joker venom to offer any thanks, although sometimes they did yell at the nearest available Bat for not putting a stop to things sooner.

In Metropolis, apparently, they threw a parade.

“Do they do this _every_ time your father saves the city?” Damian asked, drawing his cape more closely around him and scowling down at the cheering crowd from his place on the garish red, blue, and yellow float.

“Oh, no, they’d blow through the ticker tape budget in a month,” Jon said, with a teasing edge to his grin that told Damian that the implied boast— _my father saves his city more frequently than your father_ —had been intentional. Damian _tt_ ’ed and ignored the bait. “Plus Dad wouldn’t let them. I’m pretty sure this is just reused stuff from the annual Superman Day Parade. But this is special because it’s us!”

Damian raised an eyebrow, which didn’t exactly show over his mask, but he knew Jon would understand the way his forehead creased. “What.”

“Oh right, you were yelling at those people from Arkham when I talked to the mayor. They wanted to throw the parade because it was the first time I saved the city alone. I mean, without my dad. But I told them I most certainly did _not_ do it alone!” Jon threw an arm around Damian too quickly for Damian to dodge it and waved to the crowd with his free hand. “My best friend saved my life today!”

Damian bit back an annoyed groan. After all, Jon might be excitable, but he wasn’t _wrong_. Toyman’s giant robot had been broadcasting on one of Hatter’s usual frequencies, and all of the Bat communicators had been programmed to block those out. But Jon was apparently human enough that the frequency worked on him, or maybe even worked _better_ because of his super-hearing.

Either way, it had taken some red-sun-powered earbuds hastily cobbled together at S.T.A.R. Labs, a death-defying leap onto Jon’s back from Metropolis’s tallest building, and an extremely unpleasant fight in midair before Damian managed to snap Jon out of it. Once he did, though, it was the work of a moment for Jon to disable the robot and bring Toyman and Hatter in by the scruffs of their stupid ugly suits.

“So this isn’t a Superman parade, or even a Super _boy_ parade. I wouldn’t agree to that. It would be, I don’t know, kind of stuck up?” Jon explained, still with his arm hanging over Damian’s shoulders. He smelled like the cookies they’d been baking in his parents’ apartment before this whole thing started, and like warm, slightly sweaty boy. “It’s a parade celebrating our friendship!”

Damian craned his neck to look at the float they were on. Sure enough, there were R logos and bat symbols with a non-canonical number of points on the wings hastily added to all of the overwhelmingly Super-themed decor.

“Yes, this seems balanced,” he said dryly.

Jon laughed. “Well, they had to work with what they had. But I told the mayor you’re the real hero here, and she’s gonna say so in her speech when she gives us the key to the city.” His expression went thoughtful. “We have a lot of those back home, we’re gonna need more closet space soon.” Then he brightened again. “But this is a celebration, D! Smile!”

Damian looked at him, just a few inches away. Jon’s violet eyes were alert and happy, the thick dark lashes around them making their unusual color even more striking. His hair was a windblown mess, and there was a cheerful flush of exertion on his cheeks, drowning out the tiny, golden freckles Damian knew were there.

For a split second, Damian thought about pressing his lips to the nearest curving cheek, to see if that flush made them warmer than usual.

His eyes went wide behind his mask. He tried to step away and found that he couldn’t, Jon’s arm around him too super-strong for a second, and it was just enough time for him to catch Jon’s face starting to fall.

Jon’s arm relaxed, beginning to pull away—because of _course_ he was letting go, Jon would never use his strength against Damian except in fun. But Damian thought about how happy Jon had looked a second ago, and how different that was from the dull, distant look in his eyes when Toyman and Hatter had been controlling him.

If Damian pulled away, Jon would be _sad_.

Damian slung his own arm around Jon’s shoulders, which was a bit awkward since Jon was still irritatingly taller than him, but had the desired effect of keeping him from going anywhere. With his free hand, he waved stiffly to the crowd.

“All right,” he said, his tone carefully grudging. “But the next time we hang out over the weekend, we’re doing it at my house.”

Jon grinned, his arm tightening around Damian for a second, and Damian wasn’t sure which of those things made him feel so warm. “Deal,” he said.

-

2\. 

Damian was sixteen and Jon was thirteen and Damian was pretty sure Jon was keeping something from him.

It had been going on for a while now—Jon starting to say something and then catching himself, or looking cagey for no reason, or staring blankly at Damian like he was thinking about something entirely unrelated to what Damian was saying. It didn’t help that Jon was an abjectly terrible liar—so terrible that Damian had assumed that he would eventually just blurt out whatever was making him so jumpy and distracted all the time. But he didn’t.

They were in their Fortress, where they usually spent their afternoons, since now that Damian was in high school they barely saw each other outside of missions. Damian was doing pull ups with a twenty-pound weight hanging from his hips to increase his resistance. Dr. Thompkins was fairly certain that he wasn’t going to get much taller, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t build muscle mass. And at least he was taller than Drake now.

Jon, who infuriatingly had no complaints in the height department despite having only just started puberty, was sprawled on the couch, his long legs dangling over one of the arms. He was supposed to be reading _Romeo and Juliet_ , but he kept letting the play fall forgotten to his lap and gazing vacantly in Damian’s direction.

Damian pulled himself up to the bar again, abdominals clenching. “Something I can help you with, Kent?”

Jon startled, dropping the play to the floor and turning bright red. “What?”

“If you turned on your heat vision any time in the past ten minutes, I’d be dead,” Damian said. “Not enjoying the play? I don’t blame you. I prefer the histories.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jon said. “I mean, the old-fashioned language is a little hard to understand, but they took us to see the play so I know what happens. I like Mercutio.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Everyone likes Mercutio.” He did another pull up. He could feel perspiration dampening his shirt, making it cling to his skin. Irritating. “So what’s the problem?”

“Uh, what problem?”

Really, Jon was a _terrible_ liar. “The one that has you staring like a zombie, corncob,” Damian said.

“Oh. Uh. I was just...thinking.”

“I’m proud of you for exploring a new hobby.”

“Shut up.” Jon narrowed his eyes at him, then bit his lip. “Do you ever...sometimes I think that I might be...I mean, that I might like…”

Damian pulled himself up again.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Jon blurted out suddenly.

Damian lost his grip on the bar. He just barely managed to land on his feet without spraining an ankle. “What?”

“Have you ever, uh, you know.” Jon was red again. “Kissed anyone? You’re older than me, so I just...uh, I just wondered.”

Damian unstrapped the belt that held the weight around his hips and reached for his water bottle to buy himself some time. Not that the answer needed much thinking about, because it was just one word: “No.” There had been that near miss, with Djinn, and Emiko had kissed him on the cheek once, but the very _smallness_ of those interactions made it too embarrassing to describe them, or how weighty they’d felt when he was thirteen. How weighty they _still_ felt, if he was being honest.

He swallowed, capped the bottle again, and said, “No.” He tried to make it sound like it didn’t matter very much, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“Oh,” Jon said.

Damian would have described his expression as almost relieved, if that hadn’t been nonsensical in context. Still, at least the conversation was over.

“Did you want to?” Jon asked, sitting up properly.

“Is this because of the play?” Damian asked, annoyed by the cross examination. He picked up the weight and returned it to its place on the rack, mostly for an excuse to look away from Jon. “It’s not even romantic. They’re idiots.”

“What play?” Jon asked, then glanced at his book, forgotten on the floor. “Oh. No. Not really. I just...I just was thinking about it. And like I said, you’re older than me.”

“So is the clone,” Damian pointed out. “Why don’t you ask _him_ about these things?”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “Would _you_ want to talk to Kon about this?”

Damian blanched. Discussing romance with the clone would be more annoying and mortifying than discussing it with literally any of his brothers, and that was saying something. “I suppose not.”

Jon just sat there, like he was waiting for another answer. Damian thought back to the previous question. His face heated.

“I don’t see what business it is of yours whether I want to kiss anyone unless the person I want to kiss is you,” he said haughtily. There. That should put an end to it.

But Jon’s eyes just went wide. He pushed himself onto his knees, leaning a bit over the arm of the couch. “ _Do_ you want to kiss boys?” he asked. “Or just girls? Because I…” He chewed at his lip again. “I don’t know.”

“I…” Damian opened his mouth and closed it again. He didn’t think about many people that way, because his standards were nothing if not exacting, and most people were terrible. That didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed boys as well as girls.

“I don’t know either,” he admitted before he could catch himself. His voice came out more quietly than he had intended. “I think maybe...both?”

He’d never said it out loud. But with Jon, maybe it was all right. This was their Fortress, after all.

Jon’s eyes somehow went even wider. He’d taken off his glasses, like he usually did when it was just the two of them, and his irises were dark and bottomless in the dim light of the fortress. “Oh,” he said. “I think...I think maybe just boys. For me.”

Damian was highly attuned to the workings of his own body, which was how he knew his heart was suddenly beating faster. He just wasn’t sure _why_.

“Oh. That’s. That’s also. An option,” Damian said idiotically.

“But, you know, I thought if I kissed...someone, then I’d know for sure,” Jon said. “Which is why I was, um. Thinking about it.”

Damian looked at his best friend, leaning over the arm of the couch, the picture of eager curiosity. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest kissing Jon, right now. Not because he wanted to kiss _Jon_ , of course, but because it would answer both of their questions, wouldn’t it? At least part of the way.

He promptly banished the thought. Jon was only thirteen; he was too young to be kissing anyone. Besides, the very idea of vocalizing it was _mortifying_.

No, the only thing to do was to reply with something tactful but noncommittal and then change the subject.

“Mm,” he said. “You should finish your reading so that we can train.”

Jon blinked at him and then suddenly seemed to shrink, somehow, curling in on himself the way his father did when he didn’t want the world to know what he truly was.

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” He sat back down on the couch and picked up the play, frowning at the cover for a minute. “You know, I know how it ends, but I can’t help hoping they’ll figure it out this time.”

“The play’s over four hundred years old,” Damian said. “I think that’s taking optimism a little far.”

“Yeah, well.” The smile Jon threw him seemed wobbly, somehow. Damian wasn’t sure why. “Someone has to, right?”

-

3.

Damian was eighteen and Jon was fifteen and Damian hadn’t actually wanted a birthday party, but Richard never listened.

It wasn’t as stultifying as a proper Wayne gala, but it didn’t take long for the well-wishes from assorted friends and family to begin to wear on Damian. He gamely hung on long enough that he knew Richard wouldn’t be hurt by his disappearance, and then made his escape accordingly.

Jon found him taking Titus for a walk on the grounds, far enough away from the manor that he wouldn’t be spotted from a window. Reluctantly, he had to admit that Jon probably knew him well enough that he hadn’t even had to use his super senses to locate him.

“All partied out?” Jon asked with a grin, falling into step beside him, his hands in his pockets.

“I told Richard not to throw one, but you know how he loves his circuses,” Damian said. He didn’t _mind_ , not really. He knew Richard meant well.

“Well, how would _you_ have celebrated turning eighteen, if you could have done anything?” Jon asked. “Which you probably could’ve, really. I mean, your dad’s a millionaire with like seven private jets.”

“Eight,” Damian corrected absently, frowning. He hadn’t really considered how he _wanted_ to spend his birthday. “I don’t know. I suppose I don’t see the point in making a whole song and dance out of it.”

“You know, for someone so big on his birth _right_ , you’re weirdly whatever about your birth _day_ ,” Jon said. Damian gave him a look. “Well, I don’t care who your parents or your grandparents are. That has nothing to do with you. I’m just glad you were born, and that you’re still here.”

Damian felt unreasonably warm, considering that it was a chilly night. “I don’t see how I had any more control over being born than I did over to _whom_ I was born.”

“I can’t believe you just said _whom_ ,” Jon snorted. “Anyway, even if you don’t think birthdays in general are important, a lot of people are going to think this one is. Including, you know, the government. You’re legally an adult now, D. That’s a big deal.”

“Again, I don’t see that it matters, considering that I was barely ever a child,” Damian replied.

Jon stopped short. Damian turned back toward him and was surprised to see him looking upset.

“I didn’t mean...I know you had a really awful childhood, for most of it,” Jon said. “Especially before you met your dad, and before...before we knew each other. I didn’t think that...sorry. Being an adult probably isn’t that exciting for you, is it?”

Damian frowned. “Like I said, it doesn’t really matter to me either way,” he said, picking his words a little more carefully than he usually did. “But it seems to matter to _you_.”

“It’s just...not fair, I guess,” Jon said with an uneasy shrug, clearly disproportionately distressed about Damian’s unconventional childhood. “When I think about being a kid, I think of _fun_ stuff, like hanging out with you. I wish you had that. That’s all.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “You’re aware that I was also present for all of these memories, right?” Jon still looked morose, and Damian sighed. “I’m fine, Jon. The more unsavory aspects of my past are, well, in the past, for the most part. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I don’t _pity_ you,” Jon said, looking startled. “Are you kidding? You’re a smart, rich, handsome _superhero_ , who would _pity_ you?”

Damian blinked. Jon thought he was handsome?

“I just want you to be happy,” Jon continued. “Even if you have to put up with a birthday party you don’t want.”

Damian squinted up at him, perplexed. They were far enough from the manor that he could only faintly hear the music from the party, and the grounds were quiet and serene. His family was safe in the manor. He had his best friend with him, and his dog. What else did Jon think he could want?

“I’m happy out here,” he said, as if it was obvious, because it should have been obvious.

Jon _beamed_ at him then, so sudden and brilliant Damian felt unaccountably breathless. He was conscious, suddenly, of how close they were standing to each other. He was conscious of everything about Jon—like the fact that he had clearly made some kind of effort to dress up for the party, but the wind had blown his eternally messy curls into even greater disarray and his suit was rumpled. His dishevelment did nothing to disguise how tall and broad he was getting, though, or the warmth of his smile, or the way the nearly full moon carved the graceful lines of his face into a pristine sharpness that Damian would have likened to statuary if Jon wasn’t so palpably, vibrantly _alive_ that such a comparison was laughable.

“I’m happy too,” Jon said, swaying even closer. His voice was lower and softer than usual, and it made the back of Damian’s neck prickle.

Damian wanted to kiss him.

Damian _could_ kiss him, he realized suddenly with perfect clarity. He could kiss him, and Jon would let him. Jon might even kiss _back_.

He remembered their embarrassed, fumbling conversation from a couple years ago. Damian had been kissed since then—not very often, but enough to know that he had been right about liking both boys and girls. He wasn’t sure if Jon had been kissed, if Jon knew for sure what he wanted, but he knew that Jon wouldn’t mind if Damian didn’t have much experience, if he was hesitant. If he was _shy_. Jon had always taken Damian exactly how he was.

He took a step closer, reached out for Jon’s hand because he needed to hold on to something. “Jon…”

Jon’s fingers curled around his, warm despite the chill of the night. His hands were softer than Damian’s. It took more than this world had to offer to put calluses on Kryptonian skin. “Yeah?”

He saw Jon’s thick, dark lashes droop over his eyes, and knew that Jon knew what he wanted to do. He leaned in.

And abruptly remembered that Jon had said earlier: that Damian was, as of today, a legal adult.

And Jon wasn’t.

Jon wasn’t even _close—his_ fifteenth birthday had been barely six months ago. If he had been seventeen, maybe it would have been okay. If Damian had kissed him yesterday, when _he_ was still seventeen, maybe it would have been okay.

But it wasn’t yesterday, and Damian was no longer a child, and that meant he couldn’t do this.

He pulled back. “We should keep walking. Titus needs the exercise,” he said, even though Titus had bounded well ahead of them some minutes prior.

It was like watching someone come up from underwater, the way Jon blinked in confusion as the moment dissolved around them. “Oh,” he said, and for a bad liar, he hid whatever he was feeling quickly. “Yeah. Sure.”

They resumed walking, as the music from the manor drifted across the grass, as Titus ran back and forth as if to protest their slowness. With every step, Damian was more certain that he had made the correct decision. Even if he hadn’t been older than Jon, their partnership was too effective for him to risk interfering with that just because of some kind words in the moonlight. This wasn’t a boundary he could, or should, cross.

But they didn’t let go of each other’s hands.

-

4\. 

Damian was nineteen and Jon was sixteen and some days that was very difficult to remember.

They were sparring in the exercise room in Titans Tower, just the two of them. Damian normally ran training exercises for the whole team on the course outside, where there was more room to move and less likelihood that Jon would accidentally bring the whole Tower down on their heads.

But Jon’s actual _combat_ skills were abysmal. All of the Kryptonians’ were, frankly, since they relied so heavily on their strength that they’d never bothered to work on their technique. Clark was best described as an embarrassment, and if Damian had to watch the clone throw a punch from his elbow instead of his hip one more time, he would have to have _words_ with Drake about getting his house in order. Supergirl was admittedly not as bad as the others, but still painful to watch.

Jon, however, was Damian’s responsibility. And the son of Batman did not shirk his responsibilities.

He’d worked with Steel to install red sun lamps in the exercise room that could bring Jon down to a normal human’s power levels, so that he could train him properly. After all, there were plenty of villains in Jon’s weight class where strength alone wouldn’t suffice, and Damian did not intend to lose his best friend to Mongul or Doomsday because his left hook was sloppy.

Sadly, Jon was a disappointingly slow learner. Though not really that disappointing, because Damian had to admit he found it entertaining throwing Jon to the mat seven or eight times in a quarter of an hour.

“Again,” he said as Jon got back to his feet.

“Come on, Damian,” Jon said, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Jon sweating was a novelty, too. “My back is killing me. Let’s go get lunch.”

“ _Darkseid_ isn’t going to let you go get lunch while you’re fighting him,” Damian pointed out. He didn’t feel particularly bad about Jon’s back, considering any bruises would vanish the second Jon stepped out into the sun.

“He might if we asked him nicely?”

Damian lowered his brows. “ _Again_.”

Jon sighed and charged at Damian, laughably sluggish without his superspeed. Damian grabbed Jon’s leading arm, turned, and threw Jon over his hip. He took pity on him and sent him to the mat face first this time, bending down with Jon’s arm twisted behind him and his knee in the center of Jon’s back.

“Didn’t put you on your back that time,” he said, leaning in close to make sure Jon saw his smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Jon scowled at him. Damian would have said the expression was adorable if that wasn’t a word he reserved for Alfred the cat. “How thoughtful of you,” he said, and then shoved upwards. Damian could have kept him down but he let him have it, rolling back onto his backside with a laugh as Jon pushed himself up.

He didn’t expect Jon to turn his escape into an attack. Jon pounced on Damian, pinning him to the mat with his knees on either side of Damian’s hips and his fingers locked around Damian’s wrists.

“Ha!” he said, and then added, “ _Always be prepared for a surprise attack_ ,” in a voice that was clearly supposed to be an imitation of Damian’s. “Not so smug now, are you?”

“Yes, the score is now one to eight, you’re clearly putting me in my place,” Damian drawled.

“One to _seven_.”

“Whatever.” Damian rolled his eyes. “Let me up.”

“What if I don’t?” Jon asked, grinning.

Damian tested Jon’s grip, but it was firmer than he’d expected. Jon weighed more than him, and with Damian’s hands pinned on either side of his head, his own leverage wasn’t optimal. He could still think of at least a dozen ways to get out of Jon’s hold, but none that wouldn’t _hurt_ him, which he didn’t actually want to do.

“I’ll make you regret it,” he offered, though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He hadn’t been able to intimidate Jon since Jon was eleven.

Jon leaned forward until his head was directly over Damian’s, still grinning. “Why don’t you try it, and we’ll see who winds up regretting what?”

Damian opened his mouth, but whatever he’d planned on saying died on his tongue at the sight of Jon above him. Jon was flushed and pleased with himself, his curls sticking to his forehead with sweat and his chest still heaving with exertion. He was heavy and warm and Damian was suddenly immensely, intimately conscious of exactly what part of him Jon was straddling.

He could tell that Jon realized it too, as his smile faded and his face went slack. Damian thought he could feel Jon’s pulse rushing through his palms, against Damian’s wrists—unless that was Damian’s pulse, beating faster than it should be from what had barely been a workout.

“Damian…” Jon said. Just his name. He had to know, he had to _know_ , and yet he didn’t let go of Damian. Didn’t stand up.

Damian took in a shaky breath, and that was worse, because all he could smell was Jon, sweaty and warm, and it should have been disgusting but it just made his throat go dry. Jon’s lips were parted and his breaths weren’t coming any slower even though they’d stopped moving. His pupils were huge, his eyes nearly as dark as the glossy black lashes that fringed them.

He didn’t _look_ horrified. He looked…

He looked like if Damian looked down, he’d see that he wasn’t the only one feeling like this.

Damian didn’t let himself look down.

Why had he thought this was a good idea? The two of them alone, grappling, with Jon sweating through a T-shirt that was getting too small on him? What had _possessed_ him to put them in the kind of situation where adrenalin and closeness could wear even the strongest willpower thin? Had he really wanted to teach Jon to fight, or had he just wanted an excuse to touch him?

He suddenly wondered if the possibility of something like this happening was the _reason_ Jon had agreed so readily to this kind of sparring. The thought made him burn even hotter.

Because if Jon wasn’t moving away...if Jon felt the same...if Jon had _wanted_ this, all along, then Damian _could_. Could shake his wrists free and twine his arms around Jon’s neck and pull him _down_ …

Except he couldn’t, because Jon was sixteen. And Damian wasn’t.

“Let me up,” he said. It came out faint.

Jon’s brow furrowed. “Damian…”

Damian closed his eyes. “Let me _up_ ,” he said, and Jon did, sitting back on his heels so that Damian could slide out from under him.

Damian stood up. “You’re right,” he said. “We should break for lunch.”

“Can we _talk_ about—”

“I’ll use the shower upstairs,” Damian said, because the ones down here weren’t communal but they were still too close for comfort. He kept himself angled away from Jon as he spoke. He couldn’t look at Jon’s face. He couldn’t look at any _part_ of Jon.

“Damian,” Jon said again, but this time it didn’t sound like he had anything else to say.

“You should probably train with Speedy from now on. I’ve been neglecting working on our tactical plans.” Damian took a breath. “I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

He walked away before Jon could say anything, but he didn’t think Jon tried.

-

5\. 

Damian was twenty and Jon was seventeen and Damian was so tired of saying no.

They were on a roof in Gotham after patrol, watching the sun come up. Even Gotham had its share of beauty like this, bathed in the pinks and golds of early morning.

Jon was holding Damian’s hand. Damian wasn’t sure when they’d started doing that, but it had happened more and more frequently over the years. He _should_ pull his hand away. He _wanted_ to take his gauntlet off so that he could feel Jon’s skin against his own. He compromised by doing neither.

“You should head home,” he said, but not with any great urgency. “You’re going to be tired in school tomorrow.”

“Eh. Not really,” Jon said. “I like sleeping, but it takes a few days for me to really get _tired_.”

“Me too.”

“Liar,” Jon said fondly. “But hey, speaking of school...Homecoming is next week. There’s a dance.”

Damian’s eyebrows went up. “That sounds...quaint.”

Jon laughed. “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I was thinking you could come with me.”

Damian felt himself grow still. “I realize I don’t have much experience with the chest-thumping rituals of Middle America, but I didn’t think it was common practice to bring a friend who doesn’t attend the school in question.”

“First of all, Metropolis is not Middle America, it’s a forty minute drive south of here,” Jon said. “And second, you know it’s not.” He sat up a little straighter, but he looked a little nervous. “I thought you could be my date.”

And there it was. The thing they never said, the thing that had been simmering between them for far longer than Damian had been able to put a name to it, and Jon had just...asked. Just like that.

“I...you know that’s not possible,” Damian said, pulling his hand free from Jon’s.

“Why not?”

Damian stared at him. “Because I’m _twenty_ and you’re _underage_ , Jon!” Jon snorted. “It’s illegal!”

“No, it’s not,” Jon said. “Even the two of us having sex wouldn’t be illegal, because I’m over the age of consent in both of the states we live in. But I’m not talking about sex, I’m talking about going to a dance. I’m pretty sure there aren’t any laws about who I can take to Homecoming.”

Damian’s face had gone hot the minute Jon said “sex,” as casually as if it was something they discussed all the time. “Over the age of...did you look this _up?_ ” he asked to try to steer the conversation away from...that. Not that the thought of Jon looking up whether he could legally sleep with Damian left him feeling any less like his skin was two sizes too small.

“Yes, because I knew you’d be ridiculous about it.” Jon pointed to himself. “Son of two investigative reporters here. I do know how to look things up on occasion.”

“I’m not being _ridiculous_ ,” Damian snapped. “You’re three years younger than me, Jon. Any relationship between the two of us that is more than… _collegial_ would be inappropriate.”

“We’re not _collegial_. Who even says _collegial?_ ” Jon asked, looking up at the sky like it held an answer. “We’re...we’re _us_ , Dami. I’m tired of pretending we aren’t.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Damian said. He couldn’t let Jon’s sentimentality distract him, not even when it made something under his ribs throb painfully. He’d made promises to do the right thing—to his father, to Richard. To Jon. He couldn’t break them now. “You’re too young, Jon.”

“Too young to date? Too young to date _you?_ Too young to know what I want?” Jon certainly seemed to be taking his investigative legacy seriously. Damian’s head was starting to hurt.

“Yes. All of it. I don’t know.” Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Would _you_ date a fourteen-year-old?”

“No, because a fourteen-year-old isn’t my best friend who I’ve known since I was ten and trust more than anyone else in the world. A fourteen-year-old isn’t _you_.” Jon took Damian’s hand again. “I only want _you_ , Damian. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Damian made the mistake of looking at him. Jon was far too close, close enough to count every tiny freckle across his nose, every impossibly long eyelash fringing those unreal eyes. His cheeks were pink, his lips even pinker. His loose, thick curls were tangled and Damian wanted to reach up and try to tame them. He wanted to see how messy they could get.

_No._ Damian’s grandfather had always run roughshod over those around him in his pursuit of what he wanted. Damian’s father had always denied himself the petty pleasures that would compromise his morals. Damian had chosen which of them he wanted to emulate long ago.

“Mere lust is not a good enough reason to do something we know is wrong,” he said, feeling his face go even hotter.

“Oh my god,” Jon said, but his laugh was incredulous, not amused. “This isn’t _lust_. Not just that, anyway. Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all this is, I dare you.”

Damian stared at him helplessly. Now that they were actually _talking_ about it, he couldn’t deny that he wanted Jon, had wanted him for a long time. He wanted to kiss him, to touch the parts of him he’d never dared to reach for and find his welcome there; he wanted to feel the heat and strength of him in entirely new ways. He had no experience in these matters, not really, but with Jon, maybe that would be okay. They’d always explored new worlds together, after all.

But Jon was right. Damian _wanted_ —but that wasn’t _all_ he wanted.

“You’re underage,” he said again. He was aware that it was a pathetic rebuttal.

“So if I was eighteen, you’d say yes?” Jon asked. “If I was eighteen, you’d let me kiss you right now?”

“I,” Damian said, and faltered. And not just because he recognized a trap when he heard one.

If Jon was older, or Damian was younger, there would be one less barrier between them. No one would wonder if Damian was taking advantage, not even Damian. No one would tell Damian he was wrong for letting Jon think this was what he wanted.

But would Clark and Lois be happy with their son’s choice? Would _Damian’s_ father look at them and know what Damian’s hands had done? Even if it wasn’t wrong because of what Jon wasn’t, would it still be wrong because of what Damian _was?_

“Yeah,” Jon said. “That’s what I thought.”

He let go of Damian’s hand, and Damian experienced a moment of heart-stopping panic before Jon’s hand came up to curve around his cheek, which stopped his heart for a different reason entirely.

“I’ll wait,” Jon said. “Until I’m eighteen, or later if you want. I’ll wait forever for you, Damian. But stop lying to both of us about why you’re saying no.”

Damian found his voice. “I’m _protecting_ you,” he said.

Jon smiled at that, for some reason. “No you’re not,” he said. “But if I try to get you to admit you’re scared you’ll get mad at me, so why don’t I just take you home?”

“I’m not—!” Damian started to snap, and then caught himself as Jon’s smile went wider. So maybe he didn’t _always_ recognize traps when he heard them.

He settled for rolling his eyes and pulling away from Jon’s touch before he let himself take more than he was allowed. “Fine,” he said, getting to his feet. “Let’s go home.”

Jon gave him a knowing look, but he didn’t mention Homecoming again, or the larger issue that underlay it. Damian let Jon lift him off the roof—as if he could have done anything to stop it—and if he pressed himself closer to Jon as they flew than was strictly necessary, well, it was a cold enough night that he could blame it on the wind.

It was all they could have, anyway.

-

+1.

Damian was twenty-one and Jon was eighteen and Damian was scared to death.

Jon’s birthday party was on the roof of the _Daily Planet_ building, because apparently when the editor was your godfather and both of your parents had won the paper at least half a dozen Pulitzers each, allowances were made. Of course, Damian’s father would have just bought the paper itself, but Damian supposed non-millionaires had to find more economical ways of greasing palms.

Despite the venue, the party wasn’t all _Planet_ staffers thirty years Jon’s senior. Clark had hung around exuding cheerful awkwardness for a bit until Lois dragged him out by the elbow of his ill-fitting suit jacket, leaving only the younger generation: mostly Jon’s friends from his high school, but a few from Hamilton who’d come to the city for the weekend, and a handful of assorted Titans out of costume.

Damian was painfully conscious of the fact that he was the oldest one there.

He’d greeted Jon when he arrived, of course. His heart had been racing when he did, which wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t known that Jon could hear it. Jon had been surrounded by his high school friends—he had so many _friends_ —but he’d stepped away when he saw Damian, beaming all over his face.

He looked...like he always did, in a red and white baseball T-shirt and jeans with a hole in one knee. His glasses sat slightly crookedly across his nose and did absolutely nothing to disguise the startling amethyst of his eyes. He was still just _Jon_ , and there was absolutely no reason for Damian’s palms to be sweating.

“Damian!” he said, and wrapped Damian in a hug. Damian always lied and said that he _preferred_ to be on the slighter side because it made him more nimble in the field, when the truth was that he still wished he would wake up one morning and be suddenly built more like his father. But the deeper truth beneath that was that he liked his size in moments like this, when he could press his nose to Jon’s collarbone and breathe in the familiar scent of him and no one but the two of them would know.

“Guys, this is Damian, my best friend since...forever,” Jon said, turning toward his friends but leaving a hand at the center of Damian’s back. Damian greeted them as politely as he could. His siblings probably would have still laughed at his attempt, but Jon just kept smiling like he meant it.

And then the conversation Jon had been having with his friends resumed, this time with Damian included in the circle, and that was that. Damian made the proper conversational noises and extricated himself as soon as he could come up with an excuse to cross the room and join Lian and the West twins instead. He wasn’t any more talkative with them, but they knew him and didn’t expect anything different.

He sipped a cup of water and tuned out his teammates’ conversation and wondered what, exactly, he had thought would happen tonight. That Jon would greet him with a question? With a kiss? With demands that Damian fulfill the promise that Jon had never, technically, been able to extract from him?

Damian had always argued that a birthday didn’t really mean anything. _Jon_ had always argued that the age difference between them didn’t really mean anything. If even one of them was right, there was nothing about this evening that should have left Damian tense and waiting.

And really, what good were all his refusals to change the nature of his relationship with Jon while Jon was underage if Damian was simply watching the clock for the moment he was legal? Did that really make him any less of a creep?

Jon was a good host—a born diplomat, like his father. He cycled through his guests, clearly trying to make sure no one felt neglected and that everyone was having a good time. Every time he circled back to the Titans, Damian’s spine stiffened, waiting for...something. And every time he circled away, Damian was left unsure whether what he was feeling was disappointment or relief.

Finally it grew late enough that Damian could excuse himself without seeming ruder than usual. “I’m leaving,” he announced to his little group. “Lian, are you staying in Metropolis?”

She shook her head. “Irey’s gonna run me back to Star.”

“Only because thanks to the time difference that one donut place that makes the maple bacon whatchamahoosits will still be open,” Iris said. “This taxi takes payment in breakfast-y goodness.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Damian drawled. He was the one who signed off on the Tower’s food expenditures. He knew perfectly well what a speedster’s diet was like.

Nodding to his teammates, he headed for the roof access door. He thought briefly that he should say goodbye to Jon, that it would be polite to do so, but when he spotted his best friend, Jon was surrounded by at least half a dozen classmates Damian didn’t know. One of the boys—taller than Damian—gave Jon a playful shove and Jon let it move him, laughing and gently nudging the boy back. Easy, casual touches.

Jon was having a good time. Damian didn’t want to interrupt.

He could have spent the night in Metropolis—their family maintained an apartment in town for emergencies, and there were plenty of hotels. Of course, most of Damian’s nights in Metropolis had been spent in a sleeping bag on Jon’s bedroom floor, although none for the past few years. They’d been too old for sleepovers for some time now.

But it wasn’t particularly late, especially not for someone who kept the sort of hours he did, and he had his motorcycle with him. He didn’t mind facing down the forty minute drive back to Gotham. Maybe it would clear his head.

By the time he’d left Metropolis city limits, he’d already decided that it was for the best that Jon had either forgotten their conversation all those months ago, or had perhaps politely decided to let it lie. Or even moved on—maybe to the boy he’d been playfully roughhousing with when Damian had left the party. Someone who could have _fun_ at a party, who could laugh and touch Jon without it being laden with paralyzing significance.

It had been unreasonable, really, to make Jon wait for so long and expect him to _still_ be waiting when the somewhat arbitrary threshold Damian had been clinging to had been crossed. Damian knew it had been unreasonable. Everyone’s patience had a limit, and Jon was so bright and sincere, so casually beautiful… How long had Damian really expected to be able to keep Jon all to himself? Jon wanted someone who could go to dances with him, who could hold his hand where other people could see them and give his affection easily. That was never going to be Damian.

Besides, he couldn’t give Jon the kind of focus he deserved. After all, his father had never let a romantic entanglement take precedence over the mission. Could Damian do any less? Perhaps it was different for metas—certainly Jon’s parents seemed to have made their marriage work happily for decades. But for people like Damian, it made more sense to be alone.

He spent the rest of the drive trying to convince himself of that.

Finally, he was home. He parked the bike in the garage, rather than make the climb up from the cave. Father and the others would still be on patrol, but Damian had taken his name off of the roster for tonight, since he hadn’t known when he would be back in Gotham. He went upstairs to his room without encountering anyone, and opened the door.

Jon was sitting on his bed.

“Hey,” he said, giving Damian a tiny smile.

He’d taken his shoes off and left them beneath the open window, in deference to Damian’s rules for his room, but otherwise looked exactly like he had an hour ago, except that his glasses were off and his hair was a bit more windblown. His feet were on the floor, hands clasped between his knees, but he didn’t look nervous. Just...anticipatory, and maybe a little shy.

“What are you doing here?” Damian blurted out.

Jon’s eyebrows went up. “Really?”

“I mean…” Damian shut the door behind him and gestured to the window while kicking his own shoes off. “Your party. I thought…”

Jon shrugged. “It ended about a half hour after you left. You know it only takes me a few seconds to fly here.”

“You noticed when I left?” Damian said inanely.

“I pretty much always know where you are,” Jon said, and then scrunched up his face. “Wait, is that creepy? I don’t really do it on purpose.”

It probably should have bothered Damian. It didn’t. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. You looked busy.”

“It’s okay. I know about you and parties,” Jon said, smiling at him in a way that made Damian’s chest ache. “I didn’t want to have this conversation with a whole bunch of people around, anyway.”

“This conversation?” Damian echoed. He felt stupid, unmoored. He felt like the sun was just about to break over the horizon. He felt terrified.

Jon gave him another unimpressed look. “You’re really going to make me do this?” he asked. “Okay, fine. I was born at around nine in the morning, so I have officially been eighteen for over…” He shifted, pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, then tossed it to the bed. “...fourteen hours now. You said we couldn’t date until I was eighteen. The way I see it, you owe me fourteen hours already.”

Damian forced himself to swallow. “I thought you might have changed your mind.”

“Dames.” Jon’s expression softened. “I haven’t changed it for over five years. Why start now?”

Damian hadn’t known Jon had wanted him for that long. He wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

Jon stood up, crossed the room and took both of Damian’s hands in his. Damian _knew_ Jon had heard the way his heart pounded when he did, even faster than it had when they’d hugged earlier.

“Can we stop waiting?” Jon asked. “Please?”

Damian looked up at him, at that familiar, adored face, and desperately wanted to say yes. But instead he said: “I don’t know.”

Jon’s face fell. “You don’t...Damian, if you’re trying to let me down gently, please just tell me. I thought...I mean, you never _said_ it, but I can hear your heart, I can tell when you’re…” He flushed, cut himself off and took a visible breath. “Did I read everything wrong?”

Damian shook his head. “No. _No._ But I…”

Jon waited.

“You need sunlight,” Damian said finally. “That’s not what I am.”

Jon stared at him. “You think...what, you’re too _dark_ for me? Too dangerous? Damian, I’ve known you since I was _ten_. I know about your past. I’ve met your mother, I’ve been to Nanda Parbat. I _know_. And what they made you do as a child isn’t who you are.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Damian snapped. “I’m not…I don’t do _parties_. I’m not _fun_. I can’t...we’ll fight, and I’ll disappoint you, and I’ll hurt you.”

“I’m invulnerable.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then _don’t_ ,” Jon said. “You’re Damian al Ghul Wayne, you’re really telling me you can’t stop yourself from hurting me if you decide not to?” He shook his head. “I _know_ you’re bossy and moody and obsessive. I _like_ that you’re bossy and moody and obsessive. You’re also brilliant and funny and _gorgeous_ and so, so brave, and I like that too.” He tried a smile. “I’ve got pretty good eyesight, remember? I see exactly who you are. And I choose you.”

Damian shook his head, just the tiniest motion. “I’ll ruin you,” he whispered.

“Then maybe I choose that, too,” Jon said, his chin set at that stubborn angle Damian knew so well.

_Yes._ Damian knew he should say _yes_ , that all he had to do was utter a single syllable to have the thing he wanted most in the world. But instead he stood there frozen, staring at Jon.

“...Okay,” Jon finally said with a sigh, letting go of Damian’s hands and turning away. “I guess I’ll head home.”

He was leaving. He was _leaving_ , and there wasn’t a deadline anymore, no further excuse for him to keep giving Damian more and more chances to squander. “ _Jon_ ,” Damian said, clutching at his sleeve and pulling him back, and when Jon turned to face him, Damian reached up and pulled Jon down by his ears and kissed him.

If Jon was startled, it happened at super speed and Damian didn’t feel it. All he felt was Jon kissing him back, his lips soft and urgent against Damian’s own, his hands sliding around Damian’s waist and pulling him close. He kissed Damian, fittingly enough, like he’d been waiting to do so for years.

Damian could tell, because that was how he was kissing Jon.

When he finally had to break away for air, he kept his eyes closed. Jon leaned his forehead against Damian’s and let him breathe. “That’s a yes,” he murmured, his hands still on Damian’s waist. “You’re my boyfriend now. No take-backs.”

Damian let out a soft breath through his nose, as close as he could manage to a laugh. “I don’t know how to be what you deserve,” he admitted.

“Me neither,” Jon said. Damian pulled back to give him a startled look. “What, did you not hear me before?” Jon asked. You’re the strongest, bravest, coolest person I know. I’ve been trying to live up to you since I was ten years old.” He shrugged. “ _Trying_ being the operative word.”

“That’s idiotic,” Damian said.

“ _You’re_ the one who refused to kiss me for years even though you don’t think birthdays matter,” Jon shot back. “You really want to play ‘which one of us is dumber about this?’”

Damian narrowed his eyes at him. “How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

“Well, it’s so _easy_ to hold things over your head,” Jon said, grinning.

“ _Tt_.”

“I mean, because of how short you are.”

“Yes, thank you, I got that.”

“So incredibly ancient and yet so tiny.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Damian really liked his new way of making Jon shut up.

This time the kiss was deeper, more heated. Damian pushed closer, pressed up onto his toes to wrap his arms around Jon’s stupidly high up neck. He found that he loved the way Jon tugged on his lower lip, loved the way Jon’s arms tightened around his waist until he couldn’t get away if he tried. Jon’s embrace was impossibly tender and careful and yet Damian knew nothing short of a nuclear bomb could dislodge it, and something about that had the blood running hot in his veins.

Well. Hot _ter_.

They broke apart when the back of Damian’s calves bumped against his bed. Jon was breathing hard, his cheeks pink, and they went pinker when he glanced down and saw what Damian had bumped into.

“I don’t—” he started. “I know I came to your bedroom, but that was just to _talk_ , I didn’t mean...I don’t expect…”

“No,” Damian agreed, coming back down off his toes and loosening his grip, but not letting go entirely. He knew his own face was red, too. “I didn’t think you did.”

“I do _want_ to...but not tonight,” Jon stammered.

“Yes,” Damian said. “I...also. That.”

“Like, maybe let’s go on at least one date first,” Jon said, with a nervous little laugh.

Damian stared at him, wide-eyed. They had to go on _dates?_ He had to figure out how to take someone on a _date?_

Jon knew him well enough to understand the expression on his face, because he laughed harder, more genuinely this time. “Oh my god, don’t give yourself a heart attack over it. It can just be patrol or something. We don’t have to share a malted at the Smallville Soda Pop Shop or anything like that.”

“What on earth is a malted?” Damian asked, wrinkling his nose.

Jon shrugged. “I have no idea. My dad talks about them sometimes, though.” His expression went a little uncertain. “But I can go, since we’re not...I mean. I can go.”

Damian shook his head, sitting down on the edge of his bed and tugging Jon down to sit beside him. “Stay a bit. It only takes you a few seconds to fly home, remember?”

Jon beamed at him. Looking at that smile, Damian found it hard to remember what he’d found so scary about the idea of finally saying yes to him. He knew he’d remember when Jon left, and in the morning, and in the weeks and months to come—that he would ruin everything, that he would ruin _Jon_ , that one day Jon would realize that Damian was no good for him and take his sunshine away.

But he would try to keep those fears at bay. He would try to be worthy of Jon. They’d always faced every challenge together before—what was one more?

He slipped his hand into Jon’s, and Jon—his _boyfriend_ —smiled even brighter.

“Okay,” Jon said. “I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hi on tumblr!](https://pluckyredhead.tumblr.com/)


End file.
